Remember Where You Are
After 6 days of quarantine, my roommates and I had a glorious day exploring Jaffa. The light of the Old City is magnificent, the beach waves powerful and unforgiving, and the sunset a glorious, unbelievably endless mural in the sky. We spent the day at Alma beach, and I was overcome with peace as we soaked in the relaxation. Liat and I bonded over refreshing Gold Star beers in a can, and I even fell asleep in the sand at one point as the soft Earth held me, the soothing sound of the waves crashing on the shore in the background caressing my every cell. It was our first time spending the full day outside, and it was bliss.
When I first came to Israel only a week ago (in quarantine, a week feels like a year), it was hard for me to be fully present. There was a lot to absorb, and I had not yet caught up with the speed in which it all happened. It was like my body was here, but my mind was left in Miami, on its way but not fully arrived. That all changed today. Today, I was fully present in mind, body, and soul.
Of course, nothing is perfect. Although wonderful, the day still had its flaws. After the beach, we walked around Jaffa looking for a restaurant to eat at. While walking, we passed by a bride and groom taking pictures in the golden light of dusk. I thought they looked beautiful, and shouted out “Mazel Tov!” not thinking twice about it. They responded “Toda,” in a strangely annoyed tone, and I was confused. Liat laughed at me and I asked her what the problem was. she said “Jenna, they were Arab,” as if it was obvious. Looking back on it, it was obvious. The real issue was that I was too immersed in my own puny world to give that important detail any notice. I brushed it off and we continued on our way.
We ended up at The Old Man and The Sea, a delicious tapas restaurant I had starred on Google Maps and was excited to try. The ambiance was superb. We ate outside with a view of the water and the magnificent orange and pink colors of the sunset sky. It was smooth sailing until I had a similar encounter as the one with the bride and groom.
As I do in any place in Israel, I was keen on practicing my Hebrew. I ordered everything in Hebrew and even asked the servers personal questions about themselves (as I often do), also in Hebrew. We must have had at least 5 or 6 male servers tend to our table, and all of them were reluctant to speak in Hebrew. They preferred to speak English, which should have been a tell-tale sign that this was not the place to practice becoming bi-lingual. But alas, my passionate brain again did not notice, and instead focused singularly on my friends, how grateful I was to be in Israel, and the godly, nourishing meal spread before us.
Finally, when we paid the bill, the server asked where I was from, and I responded by asking where he was from. “Palestine,” he said. My next question was, I’ll admit, rather insensitive and definitely ill-advised. The truth is that I wasn’t paying much attention to where I was or to the situation at large (I know, quite concerning, but just keep reading). In all honesty, I was acting like a typical American tourist (which is always frowned upon): entitled to say whatever I very well pleased, and quite ignorant. I said, “Ata Ohev Israel?” Which means, “Do you like Israel?” Of course, without hesitation, he said “Lo,” (no), with an air of unexpected annoyance that I would even be so daft as to ask such a question.
In that moment, my entire perspective changed (Baruch Hashem). As if I had suddenly entered a walk-in freezer, I was slapped in the face with the cold hard air of reality. I looked around the restaurant and realized that the majority of the people eating and working there were Arab. I also realized in that moment that the likelihood of us eating at a restaurant on the 1st night of Rosh Hashanah in Israel was very slim, and that the reason we were even able to do such a thing was because the people in this restaurant do not celebrate the Jewish New Year. Of course they didn’t, because they were not Jewish. They were Arab. Arab-Israelis, also known as Palestinians. And although I had never been to Jaffa before, and had no real understanding of how Arab-dominated this section of Southern Tel Aviv truly is, I should have known better. I should have paid attention to what they were wearing, how they were speaking, and to who these people really were. I should have given them the basic human respect of being seen, of acknowledging their culture. I was on their turf, after all, and I probably insulted them by assuming they were Israeli, when in fact they were not. I consider this my first reality check, and a very needed one at that.
Although I made a few careless mistakes today, I have decided to focus on the positive, which the way I see it, are far greater than the negative. The main lesson I take from this experience is to always ~Remember Where You Are. These encounters reminded me to pay attention to my surroundings. To think before I speak. In humbling oneself, it is imperative to listen more and talk less. Those who listen have far more meaningful things to say, at the end of the day. And so, I am glad these things happened. Even though I cringed at myself for my lack of respect and felt embarrassed in front of my friends, I needed the unease to propel forward with hearty intent. Getting comfortable with being uncomfortable is what I wanted, anyway. It’s why I came here.
In this new year to come, I promise to do better, to listen more, to be respectful of every single person I encounter, and to adapt as best I can to each environment I find myself in. In the spirit of Rosh Hashanah, which is the celebration of the creation of the first human being, it is important to remember that each of us has the power within us to change the world. The lesson goes that God could have created a whole village if he wanted to, but he started with just one person instead, signaling the limitless potential inside each individual.
This year, my goal is to dig deeper into my potential. To scoop out the ego, the immaturity, and the childish tendencies, and to mold in their place modesty, humility, and more compassion. To a year full of limitless love, potential, and growth --- L’chaim!